Halfway to Freedom
High School: Grades 9–12
Story
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Halfway to Freedom
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Loose straw hissed across the floor as the door opened. Hannah held her breath. From her hiding place in the hay, she couldn't see who slipped from the black night into the dark stable. She heard the horses snuffle then sigh as they recognized a familiar scent. The mare rumbled a low greeting. In reply, a deep humming flowed through the stable.
That tune was the signal! Hannah tried to answer; but during the long day in the dusty hay, her vocal cords had toughened into a dry knot. She swallowed. She managed to squeak five notes, the notes that mattered most: "Wade in the wa-ter."
The humming glided toward her. "Come," a male voice whispered. All she could see was a thickening of the darkness. From the height of his voice above her and the pitch of his humming, she guessed he was tall and, like herself, in his late teens.
Hannah stood and took two tottering steps before falling against him. Lowering her to the mound of hay, he rubbed her cold, cramped legs. All the while he kept humming. "Hurry now," he urged as he pulled her to her feet again.
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Outside, heavy snowflakes were falling. At that late hour, the city lay dark and hushed. Rather than risk meeting someone on the streets, however, he guided her through back lots and alleyways. "How many other fugitive slaves has he taken to safety?" Hannah wondered silently. "Probably hundreds. He knows the route so well he doesn't need a lantern."
At last they reached the back door of a two-story house. There they waited until a black maid came and swept the shivering runaway inside. When Hannah turned to thank her guide, he had already disappeared into the storm.
In the stranger's kitchen, Hannah accepted a bowl of soup and a slice of toasted bread with a grateful nod to the maid, who sat beside her at the table while she ate. In the weak light from the fire, Hannah could see the wooden floor and the polished stove. This was the house of a well-to-do family. Compared to the rough farm house where she'd grown up, this house looked like a mansion. Suddenly she felt very uncomfortable; she didn't belong here. Her clothes were torn. She was dirty, and her hair smelled like the stable. She wanted to cry.
Noticing Hannah's distress, the maid lifted a fresh quilt from a bedroll beside the stove and draped it over the girl's shaking shoulders. Then, taking Hannah's face in both hands, she looked into her eyes and smiled with gentle sympathy.
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